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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23638690">and many more</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/notsowearypilgrim/pseuds/notsowearypilgrim'>notsowearypilgrim</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>the tinsel series [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Mandalorian (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Human Baby Yoda, cara is a good friend but don’t hug her, din has zero brain cells but Omera loves him anyway</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 20:15:39</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,944</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23638690</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/notsowearypilgrim/pseuds/notsowearypilgrim</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>idk y’all, it’s a birthday fic. There’s fluff, there’s feels, and Cara challenges Din to play DDR and she loses.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Cara Dune &amp; The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV), The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)/Omera (Star Wars)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>the tinsel series [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1679791</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>167</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>and many more</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>
    <em>Lifeless: lacking vigor, vitality, or excitement</em>
  </b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Din gets all the way through pouring Winta’s milk before he realizes that he’s the recipient of a stern glare from across the kitchen.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” he says, bewildered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What do you mean, your birthday was </span>
  <em>
    <span>last week?</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Omera demands.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well…” Her voice indicates he’s in some kind of trouble, but he has no idea why or how bad. “It…it was. On Thursday.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Omera huffs, waving the pancake spatula for emphasis. “You were off work on Thursday. We ordered a pizza!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes…?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For a moment she just gapes at him, and he honestly isn’t sure if he should apologize or not. It’s not like he lied about it, he just didn’t think it was worth mentioning. He tries to explain this and Omera actually has to take a deep breath; he watches speechlessly as she puts down the spatula and goes outside onto the deck.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Does he follow? Does she need space? Was that a nonverbal cue that she wants to continue this discussion out of earshot of the kids?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mateo points and jabbers something seriously, ending with </span>
  <em>
    <span>Da-da</span>
  </em>
  <span> and looking up at Din with an unusually grave expression.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He can’t help but agree with the sentiment – something has happened and </span>
  <em>
    <span>Da-da</span>
  </em>
  <span> is apparently the culprit.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A tap on his arm brings his attention to his other side.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She loves birthdays,” Winta says around a mouthful of pancake. “Even more than Christmas.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Really?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah.” She swallows. “She’s probably upset that you didn’t tell her about yours.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Huh.” He moves the bottle of syrup a little further out of Mateo’s reach. “You…um, you okay to watch him just for a minute? We’ll both be right outside.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure.” Winta gives Mateo a bite of pancake and grins at the happy squeal this earns her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Din slips out while they’re both distracted; he lets the door shut behind him and breathes in the soft quiet of the backyard. Omera is standing at the railing with both arms wrapped around her middle and her back stiff.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He stands a few paces behind her, just outside arm’s reach. “I’m sorry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For a moment he thinks she’s ignoring him, but then he hears a tiny sniff and winces. Worse. He’s made her cry. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They’ve had their arguments, of course. But this isn’t anger. This is hurt.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You didn’t do anything wrong, Din.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have to disagree,” he murmurs, taking a couple of steps closer. He can smell her hair in the breeze, but he’s still left a few inches of distance between their bodies. She’ll have to be the one to close that, he decides. “You’re out here crying and I’m responsible.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Omera sighs, and turns around. The sight of her tear-streaked face and trembling lip makes his skin crawl. “You…didn’t intentionally upset me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” he says. “But accidentally isn’t really much better.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She gives a tiny smile and steps close enough to wrap her arms around his middle. He holds her tightly, relieved at least a little. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You really didn’t think it was important enough to bring up?” she asks, voice muffled into his chest. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” he admits. “But I would have told you if I’d known how important it is to you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She sighs again, and pulls back enough to look up into his face. “My dad….” she pauses. “My dad always made a huge deal for my birthday. I’ve tried to do the same for Winta, and then we met you and Mateo, and I guess I just thought…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She doesn’t finish, but she doesn’t need to for him to understand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But, I should’ve asked. If you don’t like celebrating your birthday, then we don’t have to - “</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Din cuts her off, shaking his head almost desperately. “No, Omera.” He lifts his hands from her back to cup her face gently. “I don’t dislike birthdays. I just haven’t done anything for mine since I was a kid.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“At all?” she says, aghast.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shrugs. “Not since my parents died. I haven’t had so much as a cake.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>To his horror, fresh tears fill her eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t - no, babe, I </span>
  <em>
    <span>hate</span>
  </em>
  <span> making you cry, please -“</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Omera sniffs. “I’m sorry, it’s just - those are some of my favorite memories with my dad.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then we’ll make memories like those for our kids.” He wipes her cheeks with his thumbs. “And some for ourselves too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you sure? I don’t want to shove my family’s traditions on you -“</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You shoved Christmas pretty hard in my face,” he reminds her with a grin. “And that worked out </span>
  <em>
    <span>very</span>
  </em>
  <span> well for me, if I remember correctly.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She giggles, and even though it’s watery he relishes in the sound. “Okay then. Are you fine with a late birthday celebration in a week or so?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m fine with anything. Especially if it’s this important to you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He receives a kiss in thanks for this statement, and once her eyes are dried they go back inside - only to discover that Winta has drizzled syrup all over Mateo’s high chair tray, for no other reason than the way he swipes his chubby hands through the stickiness and then shoves them into his mouth makes her laugh hysterically.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Din sighs, but he can’t hide his smile as he gets a clean cloth to wipe down his squealing son.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Winta,” Omera says, “do you want to help me teach your dad about birthdays?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Winta freezes mid-chew. “You never had a birthday either?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” Din says, nervous she’ll start crying as well. “But I’m excited to learn. Unless it’s boring. You don’t plan boring birthdays, do you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He almost gives the game away when Winta looks unspeakably offended.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We don’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>do</span>
  </em>
  <span> boring holidays in this family,” she informs him primly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He grins. “I believe you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>/</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Omera gently shoves Din out the door, talking a mile a minute.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Cara watches, making no attempt whatsoever to hide her amusement.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Honestly I’d tell you to take him out to a club or something if it weren’t for dinner later,” Omera tells her, handing Din his keys, helmet, wallet and phone. “Maybe next year. But I’m sure you’ll have fun anyway. Dinner is at six-thirty.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’ll be here,” Cara promises. She snickers at Don’s stunned expression when Omera kisses him quickly and pushes him down the porch steps. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you, Cara.” Omera waves, and shuts the front door quickly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Cara claps Din on the shoulder, gesturing to her bike parked next to his in the driveway. “C’mon, birthday boy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What just happened?” Din mutters to himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Cara rolls her eyes. “Your fiancé just bullied you into leaving the house for the afternoon so she can fix a nice birthday dinner for you, is what happened. Which, by the way - thanks a bunch for getting me in trouble with her. She wanted to know why I didn’t tell her when your birthday was.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I told you, I didn’t realize it mattered.” He huffs and shoves his helmet on. “I have since learned the error of my ways, believe me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I would hope so,” she tells him once her own helmet is in place. “I wouldn’t want that woman mad at me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No. I mean, yes I agree with you, but she wasn’t mad. She cried.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Cara winces. “Ouch.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He sighs. “Yeah. Apparently her dad made a huge fuss over birthdays and she’s trying to keep up the tradition.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And you ruined it.” Cara laughs. “Way to go, Djarin.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He glares at her before snapping his visor down.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Cara didn’t share her plans with anyone. Partly because she wanted it to be a surprise for Din, and partly because if anyone at work knew about her sentimental side she would unfortunately have to kill them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>So she’s prepared for Din’s baffled expression once they’ve both removed their helmets in the parking lot. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What….”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You said once that your old man brought you here.” Cara fidgets with her helmet. “It sounded like a good memory.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She resolutely doesn’t meet his eye, but she can feel him looking at her when he quietly responds. “It is. One of my best.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, then.” She tosses her head. “You’re gonna need to brush up on your ski ball if you want to make those memories for your own little spawns.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He scoffs. “Please. I’m gonna <em>destroy</em> you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure you are.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The snark keeps up all the way inside the arcade. Thankfully it’s a slow afternoon; they both receive their black-light hand stamps from the bored greeter at the door and only shove each other a </span>
  <em>
    <span>little</span>
  </em>
  <span> on their way back to the games. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She dominates in air hockey and foosball, and very grumpily admits defeat in ski ball and pin ball. She shoves him into a photo booth and immediately tells a dick joke (one she’s been saving for weeks now) that makes him laugh so hard he can’t even pretend to be grouchy about it, just so he’ll be smiling in the pictures. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When they climb back out of the booth, the arcade is a lot busier. School is out for the afternoon, so there’s a line for most of the games. Faced with limited options and the knowledge they’ll have to leave soon, Cara scans the area for a worthy finale. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The first thing her eyes land on makes her grin. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Perfect</span>
  </em>
  <span>. She grabs his arm and drags him over, but the second he realizes their destination he starts digging his heels in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Absolutely </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“C’mon,” she coaxes. “It’ll be fun.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, fun for you to come back and seize the security footage later.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I swear, Djarin. This is just for funsies.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He watches the two teenagers currently playing, stomping on the light up arrows in sync with the screens and some new pop song that makes her ears hurt. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If you </span>
  <em>
    <span>ever</span>
  </em>
  <span> tell Karga -“</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know if you noticed, Din, but this is a two player gig. I’ll be up there with you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He sighs, long and hard. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fine.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ten minutes later, Cara cannot </span>
  <em>
    <span>breathe</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She glares up at Din from where she’s doubled over her knees and gasping for air. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>What the</span>
  </em>
  <span> - “</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It was your idea,” he says mildly. The idiot isn’t even winded. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, because I figured you’d suck at it.” She huffs. “How did you not suck at it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shrugs. “Talent.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t make me laugh,” she snaps. “Seriously, what kind of cop is that good at Dance, Dance Revolution?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What kind of cop </span>
  <em>
    <span>suggests</span>
  </em>
  <span> playing Dance, Dance Revolution?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She grumbles all the way through them trading their mountain of tickets for a couple of cheap toys for the kids, through a parking lot selfie that Omera specifically asked for, and through the entire drive home. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks,” he says when he gets off his bike. “It was...well, weird. But it was fun.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, yeah.” She’s not quite forgiven him yet. “Go on, your family is waiting for you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay.” He grins and punches her lightly on the shoulder. “See you tomorrow, Dune.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She lets him get halfway up the porch steps before she calls his name. He turns, eyebrows raised. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Happy birthday.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His expression changes into something softer, kinder - the sort of thing she never once saw before he found Mateo. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>/</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Omera is waiting right inside the door. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He greets her with a smile and a kiss before peering over her shoulder, down the hall towards the kitchen. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Am I allowed back inside now?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” she laughs, pulling him down the hall by the hand. “Everything’s ready.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Look, I know this is important to you but I hope you didn’t work yourself too hard, I would have been happy with -“</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“HAPPY BIRTHDAY!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Winta hugs him so tightly around the middle that all the air gets knocked out of him. He hugs her back though, and smiles. “Thank you. Is my non-boring birthday ready?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” Winta gestures to the table. Mateo squeals happily from the floor, reaching up and cooing when his father lifts him into his arms. “I helped Mama fix your birthday dinner.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I see.” Din surveys the steaming food and carefully set table. “It smells really go - wait.” His eyes widen. “Is that </span>
  <em>
    <span>cazuela</span>
  </em>
  <span>?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your mom’s recipe,” Omera says carefully. “I think it was supposed to be made with goat but all I could find was lamb…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s staring at her with an unreadable expression, just long enough that she starts to worry that she’s overstepped. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Winta is still hung around his middle, Mateo is in the crook of his arm, but Din raises his free hand and pulls Omera close so he can kiss her forehead. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It smells incredible,” he tells her quietly. The rest he says with his eyes, and she kisses him gently in understanding before shooing everyone to their seats. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He closes his eyes at the first bite. When he opens them again she’s shocked to see the mistiness of tears.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Does it taste okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He swallows a couple of times before answering. “Yes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mama watched a bunch of YouTube videos on how to make it,” Winta tells him between bites. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did she?” Din murmurs, before taking another mouthful of broth. The kids have taken to the new food with gusto; Mateo especially is having the time of his life.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I wanted to make sure I got it right,” Omera says quietly. She’d hoped Din would like the food and even appreciate the gesture, but she wasn’t prepared for how much it seems to mean to him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She takes a sip of water to distract herself from the emotions clogging her own throat. She would have made this for dinner months ago if she’d known. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It tastes perfect,” he says, squeezing her hand. “Thank you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She smiles. “You’re welcome.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dinner is perfect - she’d tried to invite Cara but the other woman had said Din needed time with just the four of them. And Omera can see now she was right. They’ll have her for dinner next week as usual, anyway. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did you have fun with Cara?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I did,” he grins. “She took me to the arcade.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The arcade?” Omera laughs. “Well, that’s not what I expected.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Me neither,” he admits. “But we had a good time. We’ll have to take the kids.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s an arcade?” Winta wants to know. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He tells them about the different games - though she suspects it’s an abridged version, she’ll have to ask Cara for the full details later - and by the time their plates are clean Winta has asked five times if they can go tomorrow. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tomorrow is school, </span>
  <em>
    <span>mijita</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” Din smoothes her hair back from her face. “Maybe over the weekend.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Winta sighs. “Okay.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did you finish your science homework?” Omera reminds her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Almost.” Winta’s expression sours. Science is her least favorite subject. “I just have some vocabulary words left.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Go on and finish them then, while Daddy and I get the table cleared up. When we’re all done we can watch a movie.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mateo has fallen asleep in his high chair, cheeks sticky with food and hair mussed. Din carefully takes him upstairs to change him and put him to bed. When he comes back down, Omera is at the sink washing the pots and pans. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Much like the night he proposed, Din comes up behind her and reaches past to turn the water off. She smiles as she turns around, expecting a kiss, but his expression is so serious that she’s startled into being perfectly still. He leans down and brackets her in his arms, hands braced on the counter on either side of her hips. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I...need to tell you something.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Cautiously, she puts her hands on his chest. He isn’t behaving closed off or upset, but the look in his eyes is making her heart race. “Okay.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t ever want you to feel like you have to do any of this for me.” He gestures to the kitchen, the evidence of a homemade dinner. “I enjoyed it, it was very special to me. But getting to share it with you and Winta and Mateo was my favorite part.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Din -“</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t think I’ve ever really told you,” he presses on, “how empty my life was before I found Mateo, and then you two. I lived off of a ratty couch, frozen dinners, and too many beers. Coming home to a house full of people who want to hear about my good days, my bad days, and everything in between…” he pauses, swallows. “That’s the real gift to me. I don’t want you to forget that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Omera has to swallow several times before she can speak. “I won’t.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He continues as though she hadn’t said anything. “This, tonight...I’ll always appreciate it. I’ll always enjoy it. But don’t ever think I need it, because to me my birthday can’t get any better than coming home to my family. I don’t need anything besides you all.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blinking back tears, she reaches up to hold him close. His arms come around her middle and he presses his face into her shoulder. They stay like that for a long time; once she feels she can speak normally again, she pulls back to look at him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So that means I should just return the lingerie set I bought specifically for tonight?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s not often she gets to see Din’s brain short circuit. He blinks about a dozen times before clearing his throat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, I mean. Unless you kept the receipt -“</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” she sighs sadly. “I’m pretty sure I threw it away. I could check, though.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nah.” He presses a kiss to her neck. “I trust your memory.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Omera giggles and brings him up for a proper kiss. “If you insist.” She combs his hair back from his forehead. “Happy birthday, Din.”</span>
</p><p> </p>
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